


Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa

by lotticorn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Drabble, Everything Hurts, Fist Fights, Guilt, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 05:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11570961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotticorn/pseuds/lotticorn
Summary: A slightly AU-ish missing scene at the end of Order of the Phoenix: Draco follows a deeply Harry outside after the exams and the fight at the ministry and confronts him. The confrontation doesn't go as planned. Blood is spilled, blame is assigned and everyone is miserable.





	Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something I wrote when I was in a strange mood. I've got more if anyone's interested.

„Well, Potter, Malfoy, I think you ought to be outside on a glorious day like this!“, Professor McGonagall said briskly. 

Harry did not need telling twice. He thrust his wand back inside his robes and headed straight for the front doors without another glance at Snape and Malfoy. His insides were churning. Seeing Snape had reopened the gaping wound that was Sirius and he couldn’t do anything to stop the wave of guilt that crashed over him. Should he even go to Hagrid’s? He couldn’t stand any sympathy when it had all been his fault and Hagrid was guaranteed to be sympathetic. However, lately Harry’s reaction to sympathy of any kind was to explode at whoever was offering a kind word and he didn’t want that for Hagrid. Again, he just couldn’t help being a nuisance to everyone. Should he even be around people at all? He always ended up endangering everyone. Was he maybe better off alone? And wasn’t everyone else? They’d be much safer without him around, that much was obvious. Sure, he’d be lonely at first, but he’d spent ten years being lonely at the Dursleys’, he’d be able to do it again. It would be better that way, ultimately. If it was a question between his happiness and all his friends’ safety, there really wasn’t much of a question at all. 

Once again Harry felt alienated and alone and just different, the same way he always had, the way he’d felt all through his childhood and then again when he had learned the true meaning of his scar. He was a freak and sometimes it seemed as if he was the only person on the planet.

Then he stepped outside on the sunny lawn, though, and, momentarily distracted from his musings, noticed that Malfoy had followed him. And he, unlike Harry, had not put his wand away but was instead clutching it tightly in a shaking, ghostly white fist. The feeling of loneliness faded and was replaced by a growing, cold fury. 

Harry turned slightly so he was facing the other boy. The grounds were filled with students who were enjoying the sun and the end of exams and no one was paying Harry and Malfoy any notice, they were too busy swimming, reading and joking with their friends. Harry preferred it that way, especially since it looked as if Malfoy was just about to combust. Nonetheless he started walking to a more secluded part of the courtyard, away from prying eyes. He wasn’t in any state of mind to see Hagrid right now anyway, not with the knowledge that his mere presence put his oldest friend in danger. 

Malfoy followed him. Of course he did. The git. 

There they stood, alone in a courtyard, surrounded by nothing but stone pillars supporting the high ceiling that overlooked the yard, facing each other. 

„You!“, Malfoy spat out from between clenched teeth once they had rounded the corner, „It’s all your fault!“ He was even paler than usual and there was a hint of insanity in Malfoy’s eyes that made Harry think of the git’s aunt Bellatrix. 

And suddenly the all too familiar rage that had been simmering under the surface, ready to explode at any moment, was back and Harry couldn’t believe what he was doing just standing there in the sun letting Malfoy assign blame for putting his father in Azkaban when his whole family was made up of killers and torturers and power hungry mad men! When it was their fault that not only Harry’s parents but now even Sirius, the last of Harry’s family, was dead! When they were directly responsible for causing the Second Wizarding War! 

‚Oh well, Sirius’s death is really your fault, you know‘, said a voice in the back of Harry’s head that sounded strangely like Phineas Nigellus, but he managed to zone it out easily. The rage made it hard to concentrate on anything for too long. 

„I’m gonna make you pay“, Malfoy hissed, still shaking, still clenching his wand way too tightly. „You can’t treat my family like that. You’ll see, you and all your little mudblood friends-“

Malfoy’s head snapped back as Harry punched him, hard, in the face. Blood spouted from his nose instantly, splattering his pale face. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Harry could feel exhilaration. The voice that sounded like Phineas Nigellus tried to tell him that it wasn't Malfoy he was angry at, but Harry ignored it. Punching Malfoy had felt good. Harry didn’t want to stop.

„Shut. Your. Mouth. You don’t know shit, Malfoy.“

From far away the other students’ laughter could be heard. The sun was still beaming down on them and a warm breeze danced over the grounds. Malfoy raised the hand that wasn't clutching his wand to his obviously broken nose. His eyes were wide and even more frenzied than before. 

„He’s gonna kill you, the Dark Lord is. You and that old fool Dumbledore and then everyone will respect father and the Malfoy name again, the way it’s supposed to be.“ Malfoy’s manner of speaking all nasally because of the bleeding nose reminded Harry oddly of Neville in the Department of Mysteries. With the difference that Neville would never spout hateful, pureblood propaganda. And the fact that he wasn’t a complete and utter self-imposed prick.

„Dumbledore dueled him, you know?“ Harry said cruelly. He was suddenly very calm. „And you know what happened. He fled and left your father behind. And now the whole wizarding world knows your father is just Voldemort’s errand boy and not a particularly important one at that. He was discarded just like that, after all. Useless. And now he’s in Azkaban and this time he won’t get away with saying he was under the Imperius. Your family is finished, Malfoy.“

Hurt flashed over Malfoy’s face, plainly visible, before his features contorted in anger and pure hatred. He shot forward, dropped his wand and grabbed the front of Harry’s robes, holding Harry in place, then socked him right in the jaw. Something snapped in Harry and barely registering the pain, he pushed Malfoy away from him and was on him in an instant, throwing punches at every inch of his pale, drawn face he could reach. 

Sirius was dead and everything hurt and it was all Harry’s fault and Voldemort had declared war and Harry had to kill him to end it all and Malfoy, the smug little git, was upset because his corrupt, power hungry torturer of a father was in Azkaban where he belonged while Harry’s whole family was dead and everyone he held dear was in lethal danger and beating Malfoy to a bloody pulp didn’t change anything, but it helped, Merlin, it helped. 

The way the other boy hissed and whimpered when Harry landed a particularly nasty hit was enough to clear away the dark fog that had taken residence in his mind and for a moment Harry didn’t feel as if he was drowning, he was doing something, he didn’t have to think about Sirius and Voldemort and Snape and Dumbledore. And Malfoy hit him and Harry hurt, but he also hurt Malfoy in return and it was good to just follow his instincts and let out his emotions and just be Harry for a moment. 

Suddenly he couldn’t draw breath as Malfoy’s hand closed around his throat and he threw himself at Malfoy with his whole body. The momentum sent them both sprawling to the hard stone floor and Malfoy’s head hit the ground with a sickening crack that Harry just barely registered. He was on top of Malfoy and he continued hitting his unresponsive form again and again, right in the face, until Malfoy raised a trembling arm in a weak attempt to shield himself from the blows. 

„Please“, he croaked hoarsely, „Potter, stop“. He sounded terrified, defeated and barely there. „Please, no more.“ 

The plea made Harry hesitate and he lowered his shaking fists. It had been a pitiful whimper, all traces of arrogance and anger lost. As if waking from a trance, the background noise of laughing students reached Harry and he remembered where he was. He had no idea how much time had passed. Then he took in the scene before him and felt vaguely sick. 

Draco Malfoy was nearly indistinguishable. He was bleeding from his nose, lip and left eyebrow and his face was a swollen mess. His left eye was swollen shut and already beginning to turn a dark purple shape, there was dried blood in his white blond hair from which several chunks seemed to be missing. The arm he had used in a feeble attempt to protect his face bore scratches and Malfoy’s whole appearance was just completely miserable. 

The back of his head looked wet and sticky and bloody. 

Harry let himself fall off of Malfoy’s torso onto the stone floor, transfixed. This had been his doing, Harry had disfigured Malfoy like that, he had been the one to reduce the other boy to a bleeding, trembling mess. With a shock Harry noticed that he was no better than his cousin Dudley. 

He threw another glance at Malfoy’s beaten up form and sucked in a breath. Malfoy was crying. His arms had sunken to his chest and his hands grabbed his own robes tightly so that it looked as if he was hugging himself in a desperate attempt to keep it together. He was failing, though, and badly at that. Horrifyingly, Malfoy was heaving out muffled sobs and tears ran down his swollen, bloody face. 

Because of Harry. Because Harry had completely messed him up. He had hurt Malfoy, badly. 

And it was just Malfoy! Not Dumbledore, not Snape, not Bellatrix and certainly not Voldemort, just pathetic Draco Malfoy, and now he was sobbing and looked destroyed. 

Harry’s stomach dropped as Malfoy turned to the side and curled up in a fetal position, arms still wrapped around his torso and sniffling audibly. A strange numbness spread through him and he felt oddly detached from the situation. 

Sirius was dead because of him and now Malfoy was a sobbing mess on the floor, also because of Harry. 

Was that all he could do anymore, endanger people, hurt them and get them killed? Was this what he was like when he snapped? 

Dejectedly, Harry registered that his throat constricted and his chest tightened, but nobody was strangling his windpipe this time. The stone floor underneath him was cold and he dragged his body to a column to rest his back against it. 

Malfoy stilled hadn’t calmed down. 

The world was swimming in front of Harry’s eyes. 

And then, suddenly, he was crying, too. Huge, wet sobs wrecked his body and he noticed that he was hurting, Merlin, the pain was everywhere. His face, his torso and his arms felt sore and swollen and raw and his throat was on fire.  
He gulped in a painful breath and dug his broken and bloody fingernails into the palms of his hands. It was difficult to breathe and his chest was constricting and Merlin, there wasn’t enough air, where had all the air gone to and why was Malfoy crying and why was Sirius dead and why did Harry have to kill Voldemort and what was happening, why couldn’t he breathe???

„I- I can’t-“, Harry gasped, gaze fixed on Malfoy’s stilling form on the ground, „I can’t breathe, Malfoy, I can’t-“ Tears were still pooling from his eyes and suddenly Harry noticed that he was shaking all over while he was frantically trying to gulp in breaths of air. The air didn’t feel warm and nice anymore, but hot and stifling, and Harry was panicking, it was all too much and it hurt so bad. 

Tentatively, Malfoy sat up, face swollen and bloody, hair standing on ends with chunks missing in between, and fixed Harry with a look out of bloodshot eyes after wiping the tears away with trembling, filthy hands. 

„Yeah, you can, Potter, I didn’t squeeze that hard“, he uttered in a broken whisper and turned towards Harry’s trembling body. 

But Harry couldn't and now he was freaking out in earnest and sank his teeth into his lower lip in a last attempt to regain some measure of control - in vain.  
„No, Malfoy, I-“, he wheezed, breaths coming shorter every second. 

„Merlin, Potter, stop being so dramatic“, Malfoy tried in a weak attempt at his usual sneer which was betrayed by a last, dry sob, but he sat up nonetheless and with what looked like a lot of effort placed his equally dirty and bloody hands on Harry’s shoulder. The touch was feather light - careful, almost tender - and Harry clung to the feeling as if it was his lifeline. 

„Why’re are you the one crying, I am the one that got nearly killed, you prick…“, Malfoy murmured in a hoarse, spent voice, but there wasn’t any heat behind his words. He was right though, of course he was, and Harry wanted to stop crying and apologize and just leave and curl up somewhere by himself where he didn’t have to be Harry who had caused Sirius’s death and who had to kill Voldemort and - 

„Potter, bloody hell! Look at me!“ Strong hands grabbed his shoulders and shook him, hard. Harry’s eyes snapped up and met the pale grey gaze of Malfoy.  
„You’re all right, you’re at Hogwarts, you’re not in danger - get a grip!“ 

Harry let the words wash over him and focused on the firm grip on his shoulders. He was all right, he was at Hogwarts and there was no danger. Yes. That seemed about right. Hogwarts. Where Dumbledore was. He was safe for now. He didn’t have to kill anyone just yet. It was all right. 

„…there you go. You, um, back here, Potter?“ 

Harry blinked. Then he registered that he was still staring at Malfoy who in turn was still holding on to Harry’s shoulders. Malfoy, who had just saved Harry’s ass after Harry had nearly killed him. 

Suddenly self-conscious, he gave a little cough and Malfoy dropped his hands as if Harry’s shoulders had ignited spontaneously.  
„Um“, Harry replied intelligently, the he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and tried again. „I mean thanks. And, um, sorry. I…I’m sorry, I dunno why I…you’re really decent for helping me out like this, though, um…I’ve never…sorry.“

„Eloquent as ever“, Malfoy commented drily and leaned against the column next to Harry. His voice was still missing his usual arrogant inflection, though, and Harry had the distinct feeling that the other boy was just as shaken up as he himself. He also looked horrible and there was a visible strain on his face, assumably from the pain. 

„I didn’t mean to hit you that hard“, Harry mumbled quietly, gaze firmly fixed on the floor. Now, he just felt cold and lonely and horrified at himself. And he hurt. „I should have stopped.“ 

Next to him, Malfoy took in a stuttering breath. And then another. 

Harry’s gaze shot up. „You’re not freaking out on me now, are you?“ he asked, only half-joking and Malfoy scoffed. 

„No, Potter, you’re not enough to make me panic.“ Pause. „I think you broke my nose.“

„Bellatrix killed Sirius.“ Harry didn’t know why he had said it, but he could feel the tears threatening to well up again. 

„…Bellatrix is crazy.“ It was just a mere whisper, Malfoy apparently scared to speak any louder, but Harry could hear him clearly. „If you’d just given the prophecy to my father…he wouldn’t have hurt you. He wouldn’t hurt children. Not even muggles and blood traitors.“ This time, Malfoy sounded much less convinced of his own words, the reply coming out even more quietly and muffled due to his broken nose. 

„Maybe he wouldn’t have“, Harry replied equally quietly, „but Bellatrix or Greyback or Dolohov or any of the others would have. They would’ve at least kept me there for Voldemort to murder me like they did last summer.“

Malfoy didn’t respond anymore, maybe because there were no more words. They both knew it was true and they were both beaten and bloody, hurting and exhausted.  
The sun was still shining brightly and the wind had picked up, carrying the excited shrieks from their fellow students over to their place under the columns. It was truly one of the strangest situations Harry had ever found himself in.

„I actually am sorry I hit you“, Harry mumbled after the silence had turned awkward. He longed for some essence of dittany and judging by Malfoy’s posture and the way he clenched his fists, he wasn’t feeling much better. 

Indeed, Malfoy’s voice sounded strained, as if he was having difficulty holding back tears, as he murmured „I’m sorry about Black. I didn’t know him and he was a blood traitor, but…“ He lowered his head and wiped at his eyes. „Fuck, Potter, it’s all fucked up!“

Malfoy was absolutely right, everything was fucked up and Harry was having a heart-to-heart with him after nearly killing each other and crying and panicking and everything was such a bloody mess and Harry didn’t know what to do and he just wanted it to stop hurting, just for a second, and to forget about Sirius and Dumbledore and Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy in prison and the Weasleys all saying they’d be there for Harry and Ron and Hermione treating him like he was made of glas, but instead he was propped up against the same pillar as Malfoy and the whole situation was bizarrely unreal, like something out of a nightmare. Only it couldn't be a nightmare, because his nightmares involved his parents dying and Cedric dying and Sirius dying and Voldemort killing him and Ron and Hermione and Ginny and Luna and Neville and never once had Malfoy appeared in a dream of his. 

„This is really happening, isn’t it?“ Harry finally asked, not really expecting an answer. 

Nonetheless, Malfoy provided one in the form of a humorless chuckle. „You hit your head too hard, Potter?“ 

„Nah, unfortunately not…Merlin, what a mess. What am I doing here? Why are we even talking?“ 

„Fuck if I know, Potter.“


End file.
